The fourth anniversary of the dark discovery of my ex’s betrayal is approaching. For some reason, four years feels like a significant milestone. I did not even notice or write about the two or three-year anniversaries. The approaching date weighs heavily on my life, darkening the light which I have found in the interim.
When writing about a traumatic event, the cliché closure technique is for the writer to emphasize that while the experience was painful and challenging , he or she is stronger and wiser in the aftermath. However, four years have passed, and for me, this is not so. I feel wiser, but it is a cold wise based on a lack of trust for others. Instead of stronger, I feel weaker and diminished, as if his use of me as a disposable item rendered me less of a person.
I have not wallowed in despair during the past four years, nor have I fallen prey to self-pity. I have executed positive actions toward healing including seeing a therapist, beginning a meditation practice, writing down though processes on this blog, creating a dream journal and taking art classes.
Yet, the overall feeling from the experience is one of loss. Not loss of this man or his supposed love, but the loss of my faith in life an in myself to make the right decisions.
More to follow…